Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. Lucy trudged upstairs behind 258 him and he put his hand on her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry about this evening. It was at the top of the building, and looked clear over a clustering mass of inferior buildings toward Regent’s Park. “I hope you realize,” he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, “that I am in earnest—very much in earnest. .
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